


A Matter of Pride

by Whymsical



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Euro 2012, Hetalia, No Romance, Other, hints of LietPol, ish, soccer hetalia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-18 00:46:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2329079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whymsical/pseuds/Whymsical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place in Poland, over the summer during the Euro 2012. What happens when Poland is facing off Russia in the capital? Read on to find out! Hints of LietPol. Rated T for safe due to some minor cursing and violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Pride

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! I'm not new to writing fanfiction or Hetalia, but I am new here on AO3, and this is my first fanfic for Hetalia! Anyhow, here it is, and hope you all enjoy!

The morning of June 12, 2012, Poland woke up with tremors of excitement and nervousness in his stomach. Today was the day that his team would face off Russia's in his capital. It was a match he couldn't afford to lose, or he wouldn't hear the end of it from the large, snow-loving country.

The Polish man glanced at the alarm clock on his bedside table. 6:30 AM. Ten and a half hours until kickoff. Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia would be arriving by train at noon. That still gave him over five hours with nothing to do.

"Perhaps I'll go see the team later…give them a little pep talk." Poland said out loud to himself.

He dragged himself out of his bed, eyes still heavy with sleep, and stumbled over to his closet. He would have liked another hour or two of rest, but he knew the butterflies in his stomach wouldn't allow him to sleep.

After selecting his clothes for the day, he stripped from his pyjamas, wrapped a towel around his lower half, and stalked off towards the bathroom. Glancing out the window as he passed it, he was heartened to see all the white and red on the streets. Even though it was early, Warsaw had already risen and was teeming with life as soccer fans arrived from everywhere for today's match.

His green eyes caught a flash of a white, blue, and red flag, and his happiness was replaced with a burning, deep-set anger. Poland stepped away from the window and moodily slammed the bathroom door. The hot shower water helped calm him down some, but not much.

He stepped out of the bathroom still a little damp, with the towel once again wrapped around his waist. There was a full-length mirror in his room and he stood before it, gazing at his reflection while he finished drying off. His eyes lingered particularly long on the little tattoo of a phoenix right over his heart.

_All the other nations already call me the phoenix, so why not?_  he asked himself again, lightly touching the phoenix's head.

Poland stepped away from the mirror and pulled on his boxers (albeit reddish-pink ones with horses on them) and red shorts (that happened to accent his butt quite nicely). He gazed at the white and red jersey in his hands for a moment before pulling it on over his wet hair. It was just like the official team jersey, except it was custom- made for him. 'Łukasiewicz' was printed on the back of it; along with the number he had chosen for himself, 11.

He walked briskly to the bathroom again, glancing out the window once more. He grinned when he saw that the offending Russian flag had disappeared from his sight.

Once in the bathroom, he grabbed his hairdryer and dried his hair as quickly as he could. The blond color slowly turned from a dark yellow to a lighter shade. After that, he dragged a brush through it and stylishly wrapped a POLSKA scarf around his neck.

Setting the brush down, Poland ran to the refrigerator. After taking a quick inventory, he drew up a shopping list. He had already decided that he would cook dinner for himself and his friends to celebrate the inevitable victory. Before going out the door, he grabbed a bag of carrots.

His first stop before the market was the stable where he kept his horses. Although the stable was in the middle of Warsaw, its park location made the surrounding area fairly quiet. Poland's horses had their own stable block, which the man visited almost on a daily basis.

He ran through the stalls fairly quickly, giving each horse two carrots and a good petting. He knew that he spent far too much money each year on carrots and such for them, but he wanted to make sure they had the best care and food. They were, of course, the most important things in his life, other than Lithuania.

He spent the most time in the last stall on the right, where his favorite horse stood. The beast was a great strawberry roan stallion of Wielkopolski breed, with darker points on his nose, ears, and legs. His stable name was Kasztan, but he competed with Poland under the name Like a Phoenix. The man and stallion made a great pair, and had won countless ribbons.

Kasztan was over twenty years old now, but Poland had asked England to create a spell to make him immortal. England had complied after months of begging, threats to make his capital Warsaw, and home makeovers (surprisingly, the Briton had kept a lot of the pink decorations) and sent Britannia Angel to work his magic.

After leaving the stable, Poland ran into some Russians. The two groups paused on the street, glaring at each other. After a moment, one of the Russians said something to the others in his native tongue, and they began jeering. In response, Poland casually turned around and walked away, sticking his middle finger at the group over his shoulder. The Russians collectively hissed at him and started forward, but this was Warsaw so the Polish man easily lost them. It wasn't that he was too scared to face them; he just didn't want to waste any of his time with the idiots.

After he got everything he needed from the market, he headed home to drop off the food. The excitement and nervousness in his stomach grew with each passing hour. He could barely keep down his breakfast as he made his way out again. It was 11:30. Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia would be here soon.

Warsaw Central Station was a beehive of activity as fans continued to arrive. Poland scanned the arrival board until he fount the one from Vilnius. According to the board, it was to arrive on platform 3. He pushed his way through the crowd and managed to find a seat while he waited. His and automatically began toying with the scarf around his neck.

" _Pardon the interruption, the 12:00 train from Vilnius arriving on platform 3 will be slightly delayed. I repeat, the 12:00 train from Vilnius arriving on platform 3 will be delayed._ " a pleasant lady's voice boomed over the speakers. Poland barely caught what she said, and the news made him groan.

"Oh, kurde*,  _why_?" he asked no one in particular. "And exactly how late?"

He slumped lower in his seat, buried his chin in the scarf, and glared at passerby. Some people glared back, while others merely sped up. One man nearly crashed into a pole. Poland grinned slightly at that. It was already ten minutes past noon. Letting out a low growl, he jumped up and began pacing. The platform was nearly empty now, so he has plenty of room.

He stopped when, five minutes later, he heard the rapidly approaching train. He glanced out on the tracks and was nearly blinded by the train headlights. Rubbing his eyes furiously, the Polish man backed away from the tracks and waited for the train to stop. Almost of its own accord, his foot started tapping.

Finally, the train stopped and passengers began disembarking. Ignoring the happy cries of the reunited people, Poland anxiously scanned the crowd. What if Lithuania decided not to come at all? But then he spotted the now-familiar brown hair and he relaxed. He could spot Lithuania from anywhere, no matter the size of the crowd. Pushing his way once more through the throng of people, Poland tackled his friend from behind and sent them both sprawling.

"Wha- Feliks!" Lithuania cried out, suddenly finding himself under the Polish man.

"Hiya, Liet! I was worried there for a sec that you wouldn't make it."

"Feliks, don't call me that in public." Lithuania hissed, panicking slightly. "My name is Toris."

Poland jumped slightly on Lithuania's stomach. The other man let out an  _OOF_  and tried unsuccessfully to shove him off.

"Loosen up! Any Lithuanian could have the nickname 'Liet'." Poland said and finally got up. He turned around to find two other nations standing behind the pair. One of them was trembling slightly, while the other was typing away on a miniature laptop. "Hi Latvia, Estonia. Glad to see you guys could make it to see me beat Russia's ass in soccer."

"H-hi, F-Feliks." Latvia stuttered, shaking even more at the mention of Russia.

"Hello." Estonia said off-handedly.

"Feliks!" Lithuania moaned from the floor. "You're going to get us all exposed! And will you help me up?!"

Poland sighed, then heaved the Lithuanian man to his feet. He dusted him off to, for good measure, occasionally patting harder than was necessary. The other man groaned again, and stepped out of reach of the blond nation. Said blond nation, meanwhile, had stepped over to Estonia and was peering at the laptop.

"I see you're still trying to hack into Rus- sorry,  _Ivan's_  computer." he said, shooting a look at Lithuania. "I'm telling you, the password is 'sunflower vodka bottles'!"

"Feliks, are we going to stay here until the match or will we go to your house?" Lithuania asked.

"What? Oh, sure. Come on." Poland said, and proudly led his friends through the streets to his apartment which was in the Old Town.

Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia were all lagging behind due to their luggage. Poland turned around every few seconds and complained about their pace. After the twelfth time, Lithuania snapped. Sort of.

"Will you cut it out? You're not the one dragging all the luggage!" he cried. He was already exhausted, and the game hadn't even started yet.

"Why did you guys bring so much stuff anyways?" Poland shot back. "You're only staying for the game." He sidled up to the Baltic nation. "But if you wanna stay longer…that can be arranged."

Lithuania pushed him away, then nearly tripped over the suitcase. "N-no, it's fine. We just brought a lot of stuff for the game. We…prepared for all outcomes."

Poland's eyes narrowed at that, but he merely shrugged and walked on. They soon came to his building. It was an old building from the early seventies. The outside had been nicely touched up, but inside not much had changed. The ceilings were high, the windows big, and there was that lovely scent of old stone that Poland loved so much.

The blond nation eagerly punched in his code and stepped in. In his haste, he accidentally locked the Baltic Trio out. It was only after one of them knocked rather loudly on the door did he realize his mistake and let them in. The door swung open to reveal an annoyed, but not surprised, Lithuania, a shaking Latvia, who was glancing around for a certain scarf-wearing nation, and a rather bored Estonia, whose laptop battery had run out.

"Really?" Lithuania asked. "Was that absolutely necessary?"

"It was an accident!" Poland protested. "I let you in in the end, didn't I?"

Lithuania merely sighed and walked in. He had been to Poland's apartment before, so he knew the way. He waited outside the door until Poland opened it and let them enter. The apartment was surprisingly clean and rubble-free.

"Wow, Poland, you actually cleaned up in here for on-" Lithuania was interrupted at this point by a pile of old armor, flags, various pieces of tack, and other assorted rubble that fell on him from the coat closet when he tried to hang up his jacket.

Poland, Latvia, and Estonia all winced simultaneously at the noise the pile of stuff made. Somewhere underneath the pile Lithuania moaned. He was pretty sure there was a lance digging onto his side.

"Now look what you've done!" Poland said loudly to the pile. Or rather, to Lithuania, who was still stuck underneath it. "I spend all of yesterday evening stuf- er, organizing it all in there."

"Why why  _why_  would you do that?" Lithuania's voice came faintly from the bottom of the pile.

"It was convenient." Poland replied.

"Convenient for  _who_?!" Lithuania cried, and the pile began to shift as he tried to get out of it.

"Well, you didn't see it when you walked in, did you?" Poland shot back.

Lithuania's head emerged from the mess of items. "Do you really think I would have opened the damn door if I had known all this was behind it?" His voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Well, next time, don't go opening random doors then!"

Lithuania emerged fully from the pile then, and ignoring Poland, lifted up his shirt to examine his ribcage. There was already a slight bruise emerging on the right side. Poland immediately leaned forward, smacked Lithuania's hands away, and began poking the discoloration.

"Ow ow  _OW_!" Lithuania yelped and moved back. "What are you doing?!"

"Where did you get that from?" Poland asked, trying to touch the bruise again.

The other nation took another step back. "From your stupid old lance!"

Poland thought for a moment. "Oh, that lance. It's not a lance, but a banner pole. A banner pole which happens to be six hundred and two years old!" he said defensively, pulling the pole from the pile. A very old, very familiar to Lithuania, flag hung from the top.

"Is that from-"

"Grunwald? Yes it is." Poland said proudly, and all of a s sudden he was back on his charger beside his king and Lithuania, charging into battle against Prussia. Or, against the Teutonic Knights, as the albino nation was known as back then.

"All these memories are nice and all, but we still have some things to get done, do we not?" Estonia asked.

"Yeah, let me just shove that back in there." Poland said, and began stuffing the closet again. "Leave your jackets and stuff in the guest room."

When he was finished with that, he walked to the guestroom to check on the

Baltics. He stopped dead in the doorway when he saw a Russian flag spread over one of the beds.

"What. Is.  _That?_ " he asked quietly, furious.

The three nations jumped. "Poland, I-I can explain…" Lithuania trailed off.

Poland leaned against the doorway and gave them a cool glare. "Please, I'd  _love_  to hear your explanation."

"We're afraid of him, Poland." Latvia said. "You're our friend, but if he sees that we're supporting you, especially if he loses, then…I-I don't even want to imagine what h-he'll do to us…"

Poland stalked to the kitchen and snatched up a box of matches. When he returned, the three nations were glancing nervously between themselves and the flag.

"Poland? What are you doing?" Estonia asked when he noticed the matches.

"Burning that  _thing_." Poland answered casually, reaching for the flag. He was deadly calm, and the look in his eyes rivaled the ferocity of one of England's glares.

Lithuania threw himself in front of the Pole. "No, Feliks! You  _can't_  burn it. Do you know what Ivan would do to us if he found out?" He leaned in and whispered into Poland's ear, "Remember the bruises? That was nothing compared to what he could do."

Poland stared deep into Lithuania's eyes, clenched his jaw, and finally stepped back. "Fine." he spat. "But Ivan- that bastard- wouldn't hesitate to burn mine. Most likely after cursing it." he added under his breath. He threw the matches on the floor and stalked out to the sitting room, where he sat sown on his couch and stared moodily into the blank TV.

A few minutes later, Lithuania came out and sat down next to him, putting an arm around his shoulders. At first, Poland sat stiffly and refused to respond, but after a while he relaxed and leaned into Lithuania's touch.

"Why is everyone do afraid of him? He's all bark and no bite." Poland moaned. Then, thinking about Lithuania's bruises, he amended the last statement. "Well,  _mostly_ bark and no bite."

"Poland, have you forgotten what he's done to you?" Lithuania asked quietly.

"Of course not!" Poland scoffed. "But he wouldn't kill us. If he did, he'd be alone, and I think that's what he fears. Besides, he can't kill us; we're nations."

"If you say so." Lithuania said tiredly. "We are sorry that we didn't tell you that we were bringing that."

Poland pursed his lips. "S'fine, I guess." he said eventually.

The brown-haired nation smiled. "Good, then let's go see that stadium, eh?"

"Not yet!" Estonia's voice came from down the hall. "Give us a few minutes to organize all these scarves and shirts And my laptop battery's almost full. It just needs a few more minutes."

Half an hour later, they were ready and set off to the stadium. The Baltic Trio had seen it only on TV; this was their first time being inside. The stadium rose proudly from the ground by the Vistula River, and Poland swelled with pride as he beheld it again. The view from the tram was good, they saw everything.

"The match begins in a few hours, but my team is already here for last-minute practice and warm-up." Poland told them. "You guys can look around; I have to talk with them."

"W-what about R-Russia's team?" Latvia asked, glancing around once more.

"I don't know and I don't really give a damn." Poland replied. "Don't worry; he won't dare do anything while I'm here. He's too scared." The Polish man laughed and patted the shaking nation on the head.

They four of them split up at the entrance, the Baltics going up to the seating area while Poland made his way to the locker room. The team was already gathered there after the warm-up. They were waiting for him.

"Right." Poland said, standing on one of the benches, the team gathered around him. "Today, we're facing the Russians. They may be good, but we're better! We will not lose this. We _cannot_  lose this. I believe in every one of you to do your job and take us to victory. Oh, and if you lose this, I'll totally punish you all." A wink. "But don't worry, we'll destroy them!"

The team seemed kind of puzzled by his speech at first, but slowly they nodded and cheered. Then the trainer spoke, and the players all went off to prepare for the game. Poland went back to find his friends, who had sat in the seats and were talking quietly to themselves.

They looked up at him as he approached and sat down next to them. "Nice stadium." Estonia said.

"Isn't it?" Poland asked, grinning. His previous bad mood had all but vanished. "You guys still have to get ready, right?" The three nations nodded. "Okay, so here's the spare key to the building and house. The big one's for the building, the small one for the house. Lithuania knows the way. I have to stay here, to oversee some final preparations and make sure that nothing was tampered with. You can find your way back here, yes? Just take the tram number 9 to the DH Smyk stop, and then follow the streets to the Old Town. If anything, ask for directions. You might run into Warsaw, she likes to hang around the square with the mermaid statue. She can help you as well. Now off you go! And don't be late, or I'll totally make your capitals Warsaw." he said with a wink, placing the keys into Lithuania's open palm.

They left, and Poland did a quick walk-through the stadium. Satisfied that everything was alright, he stepped out for some air. People would start to arrive soon. He was suddenly distracted by a commotion on the nearby bridge. There were shouts and screams coming from that direction, and Poland thought he saw smoke. He broke into an easy run, then a sprint when he saw white and red tangled with white, blue and red.

Ivan was leading a column of Russian fans across the bridge, which had been set upon by a crown of angry Poles. Poland vaguely remembered that today was Russia Day.  _Ivan, you idiot, why would you lead a march through the streets of_ _ **Warsaw**_ _?! Unless you mean to piss me off…If so, then congratulations._ He threw himself into the fray, his eyes locked on Ivan.

He reached the other nation within minutes. Ivan saw him and smiled, a creepy aura radiating from him, but Poland was unaffected. His own, furious, aura was radiating right back at the Russian man.

"You like my display, da?" Ivan asked, the smile getting bigger and creepier, if that was possible.

"Why would you do it?" Poland didn't bother sugarcoating anything. "It's the Euro! People came here to have fun and relax and enjoy football, not get hurt because some stupid Russians decided to have their parade in my city!"

"But Polsha, I merely wanted to celebrate history." Russia said innocently, though his eyes held cruel amusement.

"Fuck you, Russia!" Poland spat back, and darted forward, aiming under Russia's arm and onto his ribcage.

Russia was caught off guard at the speed of the attack, so Poland's blow landed successfully. The blond nation danced back, his green eyes challenging the other. Cursing, Russia swung his pipe at Poland's head. Poland dodged, the metal pipe whooshing right over his head. Poland's muscle's started trembling at the though of how close the blow had been from landing.

_Damn, gotta be more careful…_  Poland thought, forcing his muscles to relax. He erased all doubt from his mind and focused only on the purple eyes in front of him.

He gathered himself and once more attacked, using some of the other people as a springboard. He soared over Russia's head, striking down as he passed. Russia ducked, then grabbed his ankle as it flew by. He yanked hard on it, and the smaller nation crashed down onto the pavement. Russia lifted his foot to stamp on Poland's stomach, but the other man managed to roll out of the way. The blow would have killed an ordinary man.

His ribs and back hurting from when he had fallen, Poland propelled himself forward and head butted Russia in the stomach. The breath flowed out of the larger man, and Poland's head started to hurt. The pipe slipped from Russia's hands; he had let go of it in surprise. Poland reached forward and managed to grab it.

The pipe radiated a dark energy, and suddenly Poland felt  _powerful_. Strength surged through his veins, and he felt like he could take on anything.

"Put the pipe down now, and I won't hurt you too much." Russia's voice cut through his mind.

"Why? It feels good."

"You cannot hurt me with it." Russia said, chuckling.

Enraged, Poland swung the pipe with all his strength at the taller man, but it stopped an inch before impact. Russia laughed harder.

"See? Only I can cause pain with it."

Disgusted, Poland threw the pipe over the edge of the bridge, into the river. Russia's face twisted into a snarl, and he leapt forward. Poland felt as though he had been hit by a small truck. He was pretty sure he had heard something crack, and he groaned as his head hit the pavement. Growling, he struck Russia's ribcage and arms with quick, painful punches. The blows were getting progressively weaker as the strength slowly left him, but the beginning ones had done their job. After a few minutes, the other nation rolled off him and he could breathe normally again. Rising shakily, he gathered himself and delivered a powerful reverse roundhouse kick to Russia's back.

Russia, who had just risen, flew a few feet and went down again. Poland laughed shakily and lurched to the side. The bridge barrier rose up to meet his eyes, and he threw out his hands to catch himself before he crashed into it. The muscles in his arms screamed from the sudden pressure, but he managed to hold himself up.

"Now you got me mad." Russia said as he walked slowly over. There was a bruise spreading on his cheek from where he had hit the ground. "No more playing nice."

"Heh, I'm just getting started…" Poland said, moving away from the barrier. He noticed a water bottle tucked into the pocket of one of the clashing fans and expertly slipped it from the man's pocket, pouring the liquid down his throat and over his head. The result was instant. He felt refreshed, and energy flowed through his body. His legs stopped trembling and his breathing steadied.

"Bring it, bastard." he said defiantly.

And bring it Russia did. He took out a can of tear gas from who-knows-where and flung it into Poland's face. Poland batted it away and lunged. Some of the gas had managed to get into his eyes, but he could still see enough to judge where Ivan was. One hand stopped Russia's when the other nation threw a punch, while the other struck out. The two were locked, neither giving an inch. Poland suddenly grinned.

"As a certain albino nation is fond of saying, ' _YOUR VITAL REGIONS ARE MINE!_ '" he said, kneeing Russia in said vital regions.

Russia grunted and pain filled his eyes, but he didn't let go. He was strong, Poland had to give him that. He tried head butting again, but Russia shoved him back.

"Ahh, Feliks, you are becoming predictable." Russia said sweetly.

"Piss…off!" Poland shouted, straining against the pressure. His eyes flicked to the river, and he had an idea. He couldn't die; the worst that would happen were a few broken bones. He could live with that if it meant beating his adversary.

Poland's back was to the barrier, and he heaved backwards, pulling the Russian man with him. Russia, surprised, stumbled forward. The two of them crashed into the barrier, with Poland nearly falling off the bridge.

"What are you trying to do? You will lose!" Russia said.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that…" Poland replied, and threw himself over. He still had Russia's hands in his, so the other man also plummeted. The both hit the water and everything faded to black.

* * *

 

Poland opened his eyes, and then shut them. The light was blinding. He waited a few moments, then opened them again, this time slowly. His surroundings slowly swam into focus.

He was in a hospital room, but he wasn't alone. Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia were all in the room, and the other two beds in the room were also occupied. The Baltic Trio was facing away from him, eyes glued to the television screen, which was showing the game. None of them noticed that he was awake. Poland squinted to make out the score. Russia-1, Poland-0.

"Damnit, I swear, if that score doesn't change, someone's gonna die!" he yelled.

Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia all turned to him shock on their faces.

"I-I see you're awake now, Feliks." Lithuania said.

"Awake and seriously pissed off." Poland muttered. "Which minute is it?" he demanded.

"It's just after half time. You still have a chance to catch up." Estonia said.

Poland nodded tersely and leaned back into the pillows. "They'd better. Now, will someone please tell me how the heck I ended up at the hospital?"

"Keep it down! West still hasn't woken, and he won't get any rest with your racket!" a loud voice said from the other side of the room.

Poland turned to face the voice, and was surprised to see Prussia sitting beside a bed- wait. Was that Germany in it? "Prussia? What are you doing here? And is that Germany?"

"Yes. The awesome me and West, have come for the game. We were on our way to the stadium when we got caught up in the fighting and West was hurt." Prussia said, even louder this time.

"Gilbert, you were complaining that Feliks was loud when you yourself are even louder." Estonia pointed out.

"He is right, bruder." a weak voice said.

They all looked to find Germany awake. "West! You woke up!" Prussia said happily, his voice rising in volume yet again.

"I noticed." Germany said dryly.

"How do you feel? What hurts? The awesome me will take care of you!" Prussia declared.

The door opened and a nurse poked her head in. She glared at the albino and made a shushing sound. Prussia grinned at her, and she shook her head as she withdrew and closed the door again.

"Who were you going to support?" Lithuania asked.

Prussia lifted a red and white scarf from the bedside table, and pointed to the one around Germany's neck. "Feliks. He's more awesome than Ivan. Not as awesome as me, of course, but more awesome than Ivan."

Poland rolled his eyes, but inwardly was pleased that they had come to support him. "You do realize that you said 'awesome' like three times in that sentence." he said to the albino.

Red eyes glittered back at him. "Yes, yes I did. I'm just that awesome."

Germany sighed, then turned to Poland. "So how did you end up in here? I heard they had to fish you from the river."

"Yeah. I was fighting Russia, and we went over." Poland said proudly. "Where is that bastard anyways?"

"He's right over there." Prussia said, pointing to the last bed in the room.

Russia lay on it, still asleep. There was no one by his side now, but Prussia told them that Belarus and Ukraine had been in before.

"Belarus was creepy as hell. She kept shooting glares in your direction and fingering her knives. If the two of you were alone…not awesome." Prussia said. "They left to go get food, and Ukraine said something about going back to the game. Her duty as a co-host or something like that. Speaking of which, your boss ain't happy that you're not there."

Poland groaned. He was in for another two-hour long lecture about his 'laziness' and how he always neglected his duties. Totally not true, but what sort of excuse was 'I was going at it with my mortal nemesis?'

Lithuania patted his arm and sent him a sympathetic look. Then they all turned their attention to the TV screen and watched. Poland was becoming increasingly frustrated with each passing minute, and Prussia commented on how even in sleep, Russia's childish smile looked creepy.

Finally, Poland's team scored. Poland cheered loudest of all and attempted to rise to do a happy dance, but Lithuania and Estonia held him down. Latvia glanced at Russia's still-sleeping form and started trembling. The dark aura was back, and the smile was suddenly twisted. Even Prussia shivered when he looked at it.

"How does he sense what's going on? Isn't he still knocked out?" the albino whispered, his red eyes darting back and forth between the TV and sleeping Russian.

"You know, England once told me that Russia appeared when he had meant to summon the devil to curse America…" Poland mused.

"No way!" Prussia exclaimed. "England can actually do magic?"

"Yup. It's still not as good as Scotland, Wales, or Ireland, and it backfires quite often, but he can do it." Poland replied.

"You think he can make a charm to improve his cooking skills?" Prussia asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No. His cooking is much too evil for that. And believe me, America's told me how many times he'd tried." Lithuania interjected.

"So doing something about those caterpil- eyebrows is also out of the question?" Prussia's face fell slightly.

"Pretty much." Lithuania said, a slight grin stretching over his features. "But there's always a razor… _Not_  that you should try anything, Gilbert. Arthur's curses always come out right."

Poland was no longer paying attention to the conversation; he was watching the television expectantly, waiting,  _hoping_  for another goal. The entire rest of the game passed in that fashion, with Prussia and Lithuania going on about curses and magic and England, and Germany and the rest, apart from Ivan, who was still sleeping, watching the game. When it was over, Poland cursed again.

Lithuania looked over at the score, and then at him. "It could have been worse." he pointed out. "At least you didn't lose to him."

Poland looked at him, and his gaze softened. "You're right…But another tie, that's not good for the ranking."

"As soon as you and West are better, we'll go drinking to celebrate!" Prussia declared. "With your advanced healing, probably in like two hours or so."

Already, Poland was feeling stronger, and his body didn't hurt as much. Germany was looking better as well. The bruises on his arms had faded, and his cheeks were flushed at the prospect of drinking.

Two hours later, the two of them were discharged, and they all made their way to the nearest bar. Germany and Prussia started with beer, intending to work their way up to the harder alcohol. Poland went straight for the vodka. Polish vodka, of course. Estonia brought his own bottle, one with 80% alcohol content. It was a test bottle. He shared it with everyone except Latvia, who settled for Sprite.

After a few shots, Poland eyed the Absinthe, but Lithuania dissuaded him from drinking any.

"You already have quite a lot of alcohol on your system." he said.

"But Liet!" Poland moaned, slumping against him. "It's got less alcohol than Estonia's stuff."

"And since you already drank Estonia's stuff, you don't need any more." Lithuania said firmly. He nodded to the bartender, who hurriedly took the Absinthe down from the shelf before Prussia saw it.

"The night is not lost." Poland suddenly declared. "I kicked Russia's sorry ass on the bridge. So that is a victory! Another round on me!" he yelled, and his companions cheered.

* * *

 

Russia opened his eyes in the darkened room. He had been awake for some time, feigning sleep. Now that they were gone, he openly showed his displeasure. A plant by the door combusted under the wrath of his glare.

The door opened and Belarus walked in. "Brother dear, do not take your anger out on that plant. I will kill it, and any who displease you." she said, taking out one of her knives.

"No, Belarus. The one who has angered me you cannot kill. But I will get back at Poland, and soon. He won't know what's coming. And the Baltics too." He chuckled darkly and a purple aura filled the room, bathing the walls an eerie color.

**Author's Note:**

> *kurde= the equivalent of 'damnit' in Polish
> 
> Yup, so that was it. Don't hesitate to review or something and tell me what you think! Loved it/hated it/point out mistakes, and the like. Thanks for reading! (This is actually the end of the story, and it's up to your imagination what exactly Russia does to get back at Poland, and if it works and such. But if you guys really want me to, then I'll try to write a follow-up for it. However, I can't promise it'll be up soon.)


End file.
